


run, run, lost boy (they say to me)

by djchika



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst without a happy ending, M/M, So much angst, break up fic, crisscolfer valentines gift exchange 2018, no happy endings here, no ma'am, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djchika/pseuds/djchika
Summary: He doesn’t know when it ends.But it does and suddenly there’s a Chris Colfer shaped hole where his heart used to be.





	run, run, lost boy (they say to me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tumblr user: lokicorey](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+user%3A+lokicorey).



_I am a lost boy from Neverland_ __  
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_ __  
_And when we're bored we play in the woods_   
Always on the run from Captain Hook

-

He doesn’t know when it ends.

But it does and suddenly there’s a Chris Colfer shaped hole where his heart used to be.

-

What he regrets is this:

He wakes up and goes to meetings, spends an hour at the gym and comes back home to the beat of a blade hitting the chopping board.

“Give me a hand?” Chris asks when Darren enters the kitchen.

Darren places a quick kiss hello on Chris’ cheek, leaving his phone on the counter and heads to the sink.

“Do you _have_ to go through every plate in the house when you cook?” Darren teases, as he washes his hands trying not to get water all over the floor as it splashes against the impressive pile of dirty dishes Chris had accumulated.

“What would your mother say if she heard you complaining about doing the dishes when I’m cooking you dinner?” Chris teases back. He scrapes the chopped carrots onto a plate and holds it out to Darren to mix with the other ingredients spread out on the counter.

Darren pops a piece in his mouth and takes the plate, transferring them to a bowl overflowing with bean sprouts and chopped string beans. “Low blow. You know she loves you.”

Chris laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling and Darren is transfixed.

“Then stop questioning the chef’s methods.”

It’s all so fucking normal and easy that Darren can almost taste the permanence on the tip of his tongue, swirling and twisting honey sweet.

“Are you going to let me do the wrapping at least?” Darren asks when he was done mixing. He hands back the bowl to Chris, fiddling with the brittle edges of the rice paper laid out in front of him.

“Only if I want all the vegetables to end up in the oil like the last time,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes, pushing Darren away with a nudge of his hips. “We can try that other version next week. Less frying.”

“Yeah, sure next week.” And the next and the next and the next Darren thinks, a smile playing on his lips.

He pulls Chris to him, laughs into the kiss when Chris makes an annoyed sound but still melts against him, forearms resting on his shoulders, dirty hands a safe distance away from Darren’s shirt.

They break apart but Darren doesn’t move, comfortable against the steady beat of Chris’ heart against his own and still thinking about permanence.

 _Maybe_ , _maybe_ , _maybe_ flows through them in an attempt to settle into certainty but in the whisper between the fall and the landing the peace is broken by the ringing of Darren’s phone.

They both glance at the screen and the clammy feeling Darren gets is almost pavlovian.

Chris furrows his brow, bright blue-green eyes dimming in disappointment.

Darren bends over to slide a kiss against Chris’ lips in apology. “Give me a second.”

He wipes off his hands and heads to the other room.

“Hey, Ricky. What’s up?”

-

His official signature on the new contract are full of tight, tense loops. Darren would say it reminds him of shackles but even he isn’t that prosaic.

-

Plans are made around him and he says yes to every one.

When it's time to tell his mom and dad take the news in stride.

“Your mom and I love you very much,” his dad’s voice is a gentle rolling sea. “We want whatever makes you happy.”

“Darren -” his mom starts, hesitates, unassuming waves crumbling away at a castle made of loosely packed sand. “Are you happy?”

Soft questioning eyes continue to stare into his and the breath in his chest catches on the sudden lump in his throat.

“I love you guys too.” Those words alone drag on his tongue. He doesn’t trust himself to say more.

She draws closer, arms circling around him as if she could physically shield him from his bad decisions.

He’d never been any good at lying to his mom.

-

They stay in touch because Darren doesn’t know how to exist in a world where Chris isn’t part of his life.

-

It’s a week after the decision is made before he picks up his phone to call Chris.

"There’s going to be a proposal."

The silence that follows coils around Darren, squeezing his torso and pressing against his chest until he feels like he’s gasping for breath.

“Chris-”

Barely a sound and then the call disconnects.

Darren chokes on an inappropriate laugh, dry and grating against his throat. One hand wipes at the moisture in his eyes. He should know better than to expect empty platitudes.

At this point Chris is the only honest thing in his life.

-

The day comes and goes and it’s no surprise when none of his friends congratulate him.

Julia hadn’t spoken to him since he had told them of the plan. Lauren had studied him with too knowing eyes then nodded and changed the subject.

Only Joey had acknowledged the announcement with a heavy hand clapped on Darren’s shoulder and a “so when’s the bachelor’s party?”, lopsided grin not reaching his eyes.

He crumbles against the memory, resentment burning through him like cheap whisky.

Every one of them could go to hell for all Darren cared. Fuck his friends and their expectations. Fuck Julia’s disappointment, fuck Lauren’s pity and fuck Joey’s loyalty.

He stalks the length of his room, kicking a stiletto poking from underneath the bed so that it hits the opposite wall with an impotent thud.

The bitter anger clawing at Darren’s heart crashes through him knocking him off balance and onto the floor. They’re his family and they couldn’t even bring themselves to send him a fucking tweet.

Darren draws his legs up, letting his head drop between his knees blinking back tears and wishing that the dark cloud that hung over his head didn’t so keenly resemble guilt.

The door opens but he doesn’t look up,

“O-kay,” drawls the voice at the door. A pause. Then the door shuts close behind her.

_Fuck._

-

“I’m going out,” Darren says, grabbing his keys and jacket from the side table. He doesn’t get a response. Doesn’t expect one.

He hadn’t been lying about seven and half years. The context may be different but they had known each other most of their adult life and she knows to ignore him when he‘s in a mood. He’d be fucking grateful if he didn’t know that she was using him as much as he was using her.

The car is programmed to make the call even before he’s out of the driveway

Darren drives and the road blurs in front of him as tears leak from his eyes. He keeps his hands on the wheel, clenching his jaw to keep himself from trembling.

Only the sound of his speakers surrounding him with the hopeful ringing of a call unrejected keeps him from falling apart.

-

The phone vibrates on the bed next to Chris.

Stops.

Starts again.

-

Light brown hair pokes out from underneath the blankets.

“Good god, Chris. Are you using your phone as a vibrator? At least put it on fucking Do Not Disturb. ”

The Chris from years ago would have blushed and done exactly that but the Chris of now simply pushes the button to the side to stop his phone from vibrating.

Darren’s smile shines up at him from his phone screen, still waiting for Chris to answer.

His heart thumps loudly keeping in pace with the ringing of his phone.

“I told you to block that asshole.”

Chris ignores the well meaning-grumbling next to him, dumping a couple of fluffy pillows directly on his face to make him stop. He can’t fault the rancor. It comes from a place of caring, from love that never moved beyond platonic.

Sometimes Chris still wishes a different kind of love existed between them. It would certainly be simpler. Easier.

But the gravity that anchors him to Darren is unwavering. A series of strings tethered so deep neither of them has the strength to untangle.

He hears a sigh come from the general direction of the mound of pillows.

“You’re going to pick up aren’t you?”

Chris pockets his phone when it starts to vibrate again, and slides out of bed.

“You’re pathetic, Colfer!” the pillows yell at him.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

-

What Chris knows is this:

Happy endings aren’t meant for real life.

But sometimes the world gets bright and sunny and Chris can almost pretend that maybe happiness can last.

There’s a promise of that now as he licks his lips and peels away the cracked leather covering the worn Lazy Boy, the expression on his face carefully blank.

Darren’s unanswered question hangs in the air.

“You want me to go home with you for Christmas?” Chris repeats instead of answering. The initial shock of the not so innocent question finally subsiding and making his blood run hot and cold at the same time.

They don’t do families. The closest of their friends know. Their team knows. Family is too close, too much like reality when what they have is always on the knife’s edge of crumbling.

“Hannah and your dad are off at that volunteer camp and Brian and Cooper will survive a couple of nights with the sitter.” Darren looks at him through his eyelashes, his eyes a steady, sincere hazel.

It’s staring into an eclipse without sunglasses, an extra shot of caffeine when you’ve had one too many. They stand at a precipice and the hand hand holding Chris’ is promising that they’ll be there for the fall.

Happy endings aren’t meant for real life but _maybe_ , _maybe_ , _maybe_.

Chris inhales, filing his lungs with air. “Yeah, okay.”

Darren’s answering grin threatens to take his breath away again. “Good.”

-

They make the trip that year.

They never make it back to San Francisco a second time.

-

Chris pulls the front door closed and sits on the step of the porch, the stillness of the late hour disturbed by the soft vibrating of his phone.

The ghost of a memory floats in front of him. In it the sky is clear and blue, sunlight streams down warming the wood beneath him and a shoulder bumps against his laughing as they soak in the sun.

The memory solidifies until its warmth overlaps with the reality of him alone and out in the cold.

Chris inhales, filing his lungs with air then lets it go again.

He taps the green icon and brings his phone to his ear.

The silence from the other line is loaded and stretches the span of the miles between them.

Neither of them speak.

There’s nothing left to say.

-

 _"Run, run, lost boy, " they say to me_ __  
_Away from all of reality_ __  
_Neverland is home to lost boys like me_   
And lost boys like me are free

**Author's Note:**

> please come yell at me on [tumblr](djchika.tumblr.com)


End file.
